Mercurial
by marthesia
Summary: The story of a god, some rules, and a human who changes everything. (Rewrite)
1. Chapter 1

Hermes was positive it never rained this much in Greece. Every time he came down to this infernal city, there seemed to be hail or sleet or something else unpleasantly cold running down the back of his neck. It certainly didn't make him want to visit the mortal world more often. He pulled his coat tighter around his neck and soldiered on through the crowd.

The reason he was down here—the only reason he was suffering through this rain and not up on Olympus, where he was spared his father's storms—was because he'd been delivering a message for Zeus. Why he, personally, had to deliver it, instead of one of his many assistants, he didn't know, but Zeus had given him a look that made Hermes jump to attention and flash down to the mortal world before his father could get any angrier. He'd found his intended target quickly, some minor god that Zeus needed to speak to _right away_, before his suit could get too wet, and now he was wandering out of the crowded downtown area to find an empty alleyway to disappear from. He hadn't been having any luck, though—inclement weather never seemed to discourage New Yorkers from going about their daily business—and, frustrated, he gave up and ducked into the next bar he came across.

It was one of those less impressive, "dive bar" affairs, and he probably never would have thought to enter it at any other time, but it was warm and dry and he was in urgent need of some passably decent alcohol to take the edge off this excursion. It being the middle of the day, and not exactly a socially acceptable time for mortals to be out drinking, the bar was, for all intents and purposes, deserted. The only people there were a couple of paunchy, blue-collar types and a young bartender stuck serving them. He sat down at the far end of the bar, away from the other men, and the bartender walked over to him.

"What'll you have?" she asked, setting down the glass she was drying.

"The most potent thing you've got," he said, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm talking deadly levels of alcohol content."

There was a beat of silence where he could almost feel her judgment prickling against his scalp, and then she turned and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind her. "Rough day?" was all she asked, and passed him a glass.

He downed the liquor with a grimace—he never really liked the taste of whiskey, but there were few mortal drinks that could even come close to nectar, and he was desperate. "You could say that." He waved at his empty glass and the bartender filled it again.

"I'm guessing you don't particularly enjoy being on this side of town," she said, and when he looked up at her questioningly, she added, "fancy suit, boiled wool coat, nice shoes. Not exactly what we're used to getting."

He nodded, impressed in spite of himself with her sharp eyes. "I'm guessing those kind of guys are your regulars," he said, gesturing toward the pair on the other side of the bar.

She arched an eyebrow. "So what if they are? What, not good enough for your company?"

He snorted and drank the shot. "Honey, I know you don't expect it, but I hang out with all kinds of characters."

"Lucy," she said. He raised an eyebrow. "My name is Lucy. You want a honey, you can look down the block."

He laughed at that, but before he could respond with anything more, one of the other men called out, and she went down to give them their total. As she turned away, he could see the edges of a smirk curving her lips.

"See you later, guys," she said to them, and came back to Hermes after cleaning up their area. She tilted her head at the whiskey bottle.

"Keep 'em coming," he answered. "I said deadly levels and I meant it." She poured his glass. "I saw that little arched eyebrow, and I don't care for your judgment."

This time, both her eyebrows lifted, and she held her hands up in defense. "I never said anything. It's not my place to comment on the fact that you're on the wrong side of town at one o'clock in the afternoon drinking with the apparent goal of getting blackout drunk."

"Who said anything about apparent goals? That's been my stated goal from the beginning."

"Well, at least you're being honest with yourself."

"I'm being honest with _you_. If I wanted to be honest with myself, I would have no need for the whiskey." He'd drank enough glasses now that the taste was starting to become enjoyable—a sure sign he was on the right side of buzzed.

She refilled his glass without being asked, but crossed her arms. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

He snorted. "How old are you, Lucy?"

She looked taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Just asking. How old are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not very polite to ask a person that, you know."

"I'm moving steadily towards intoxicated—conventional social etiquette is no longer applicable to me. Besides, you can't be more than twenty."

"I'm twenty-two, thank you very much. Why do you want to know?"

He shrugged. "Potato, potahto, the point is that you're very young."

"Oh yeah," she asked challengingly. "How old are you?"

"Would you believe over two thousand years old?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one chugging whiskey, not me."

"Didn't think so."

"So what was so important about knowing my age?"

"Well," he said, rolling the amber liquid around his glass before downing it in one gulp, "I merely wanted to illustrate that you, as a rather young and most like than not somewhat naive person, really do not want to know the circumstances surrounding my presence in your bar this afternoon."

She rolled her eyes again and picked up her rag to start wiping up behind the counter. "I'm a female bartender in a less-than-affluent neighborhood in New York. You think I'm a innocent little flower who knows not the darker ways of the world?"

He chuckled. "I'm sure you know a lot, Lucy, but the 'darker ways of the world'? Not so much."

She leveled him a flat stare. "Try me."

"You already think I'm a drunkard. I don't need to add any more fuel to that fire."

"Try me," was all she said.

"I would be positively floored if you believed me when I said that I was a millennia-old god whose influence over the world has dramatically decreased since the glory days, what with the rise of all these new religions, and therefore has been knocked down several pegs into little more than a common delivery boy."

A look of disbelief flashed across her face, quickly replaced by one of concern. "I think you may have had too much to drink. Do you want me to call you a cab?"

"Of course you do," he drawled. "I told you you'd think that, but you insisted on hearing it anyway."

"I thought you were going to say something about the pressures of the corporate world, or some other self-important bullshit like that."

"What, you don't think referring to yourself as a god rates as self-important?"

"Well, it's basically the same thing, isn't it? Except a rather blatant metaphor."

"Metaphor, sure, we can work with that." When he held up his empty glass, Lucy reached for the water instead, but he cleared his throat. "I'm paying for the whiskey, you know."

She sighed and poured the drink. "I don't think it's wise to drink that much in such quick succession."

"You weren't saying anything when I started."

"You weren't calling yourself a god."

"Considering you think that I'm lying, I will concede that that is a good point."

She leaned against the counter, idly polishing a glass. "What do you actually do, anyway? If you don't mind me asking."

"Hmmm." He consulted his glass. "Let's go with chair of a company specializing in delivery and trade."

"That's appropriately vague. Don't want to damage your company's reputations with rumors of its CEO being a hallucinatory drunk?" Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes were serious enough that, even through the haze of his buzz, he could tell she was probing.

"My clients well know the vices of their company's chair," he said. "Don't worry about that. I just don't care to talk about it that much. It's not too terribly interesting."

"What _do_ you care to talk about, then?"

He considered her. "You seem interesting enough."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you said it yourself. A young woman, objectively beautiful and obviously intelligent. What are you doing over here? Shouldn't you be in college?"

"As much as flattery suits you," she said dryly, "I'm not inclined to discuss my life choices with a drunk stranger in a bar."

He tried to look offended. "A stranger? I've practically told you my life story. More than I've told any other human I've interacted with recently, at least," he added, sipping from his glass.

"Oh, yes, the god thing. I almost forgot. Thank you for the honor of that knowledge."

"You're being sarcastic, but you're actually one of the privileged few," he pointed out, but he smirked so she had permission to take it as a joke and not be any more concerned than she already was. It was sweet, really, how much interest she was taking in the state of his mental health. Not even his father cared that much. "Well," he said, sighing, "I should probably go before I cause any damage, emotionally or structurally or otherwise. Besides, I have demons to confront." She raised an eyebrow. "My father's waiting for a report," he clarified, which got almost a grin from her. He paid for his binge and left his card on the counter for her to find. "So long, Lucy," he said from the door. "Nice talking to you."

She nodded. "Good luck finding your way back home."

"I may need it," he muttered, and left. Despite the day he'd had, the knowledge of his father waiting back home, and the haze in his mind that promised a sweet headache tomorrow, he smiled as he disappeared. It was rare for him to find a mortal he could stand, but this Lucy was interesting. Her bar might make future trips to the mortal world bearable.


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn't sure how long it took on Earth, but on Olympus, it only took two days for her to call. (Of course, knowing the unreliable time difference between the two dimensions, and knowing what he knew of Lucy, Hermes would be willing to bet that it had taken a good deal longer for her to decide to call.)

He sat up, throwing off his fluffy down comforter and listening for the smack of metal against the floor that would enable him to locate his phone. (Hephaestus had to make his phone specially durable because of Hermes' propensity to do this instead of actually spending time looking for it.) Having done that, he swiped his finger across the phone's surface and held it to his ear.

"Might this be the enchanting Miss Lucy, finally gracing me with her response?"

"I can't decide whether I hope you're drunk or sober," she said.

"And why would that be?"

"Because, if you're drunk, then you've obviously got a problem you need to address. But if you're sober, then you're just that annoying all the time."

He laughed freely, somehow in a much better mood than he was used to being in when woken by a ringing phone. "How annoyed would you be if I said I was sober?"

There was a long exhale of breath. "I suppose less annoyed than I would be relieved that you're not a raging alcoholic."

"Well, being sober now doesn't exactly refute that possibility, but I regret to inform you that I am indeed very much sober."

"It's something, I guess."

He chuckled. "So, why did you end up deciding to call? I assume you've been debating it since you saw the card."

"So presumptuous," she said, a mocking tone in her voice. "How do you know I didn't just find the card while I was sweeping up today?"

"Because if that's the case, then you're a great deal less attentive than I initially assumed you to be."

"I think you assume a lot about me that you shouldn't."

"There's only one way to remedy that situation."

"Oh, is there?"

"Yes. Allow me to get to know you," he said brightly. "That way, I can rid myself of all of my misconceptions and replace them with truths."

"Cute," she said dryly.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a 'we'll see', you pompous ass."

"Well, that's a very unsatisfying answer."

"That's what you're getting for the time being."

"I'll be sure to come down to the bar soon to check on any updates to your answer."

"Of course you will," she said, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "No such thing as personal space to a guy like you."

"Nope, he said cheerfully. "See you soon."

"I'm sure," she replied, and hung up.

He fell backwards in his bed, letting his phone drop onto the mattress beside his outstretched arm. "What do you want, Lo?"

A blond head popped up from where the god was lounging on the sofa. "Who was that?"

"Why do you care?"

"Was it a mortal?"

"Why do you care?"

Apollo disappeared and reappeared sprawled next to Hermes. "You're not supposed to be cavorting around with mortals, you know that perfectly well." A pout curved his cherubic lips. "Besides, I don't like to share."

Hermes tugged gently on one of Apollo's curls. "Oh shush, it's not like that." He smirked. "At least, not yet."

Apollo rolled his eyes. "Who is it? Where'd you meet them?"

"Some girl, a bartender."

He sighed. "You go boozing again? Why don't you just come up here and hang out with me and Di? Much less...human."

"I couldn't find a place to disappear from. Besides, she's different." He smiled. "Interesting."

Apollo groaned. "Not another one of your obsessions."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. You get completely obsessed with a person for a couple years, spend all your time with them and give them pretty little gifts and take them places, and eventually you get bored and disappear forever."

Hermes smirked. "What, you jealous?"

Apollo looked offended. "Please, I'm a god. I would never be jealous of that."

"So why do you care so much?"

"I told you." Apollo stuck out his tongue. "I don't like to share."

"Well," said Hermes, pushing his shoulder lightly, "grow up, you big baby."

Apollo sighed and rolled out of bed, going to search through Hermes' closet. "Anyway, Hera asked me to tell you to go see her."

Hermes frowned. "Hera? Why? When did you see her?" The queen rarely ventured into Zeus' palace anymore, not since their falling out in the mortals' nineteenth century.

Apollo shrugged, and pulled out a shirt and examined it critically. "I ran into her in the hallway. I guess she was going to a meeting with Father? But she asked me, if I saw you, to send you over to see her." He hung the shirt back up and pulled out another.

"Why me? Doesn't she have her own little messenger? Iris, or something like that?"

"Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger." He grinned, and tossed a shirt at Hermes. "Get dressed, Hermes, don't keep the queen waiting."

Hermes rolled his eyes. "If Hera really needed me, she could have sent a servant. I'll take as long as I want."

Apollo shot him a look, and aimed a pair of pants at Hermes' face. "Just because she has no power anymore doesn't mean you should disrespect her."

Hermes snorted and pulled the pants away. "Lo, I know you're the god of prophecy and all, but I don't need fortune cookie wisdom, okay?"

Apollo shrugged and threw a pair of shoes onto the foot of Hermes' bed. "I'm just saying."

Hermes sat up. "Alright, now that you've dressed me to your liking and spouted witticisms to your heart's content, go bug your sister or whatever you have to do today. I'll find you later when I'm done with her royal highness."

The blond scowled, but nodded. "Have fun."

"Thanks, Lo," Hermes said dryly, and pulled his shirt over his head as Apollo left the room.

When he finished dressing, and had a leisurely breakfast in his suite, he got up and dawdled over to Hera's palace. He wasn't in very much of a hurry to be in the queen's presence (despite the fact that Hera had no real power anymore and he disliked her immensely, Hermes was still technically beneath her and therefore had to obey her orders), and so he took his sweet time and, for once, appreciated the beauty of Olympus.

Thanks to their limited travel allowance, the major gods spent almost all of their time on Olympus, and they had little to do but use their gifts to make their home worth living in. A large river, courtesy of Poseidon, separated the land between Zeus' and Hera's palaces before feeding into the sea that surrounded Olympus. On Zeus' side, Hephaestus' volcanoes in the distance behind the palace glowed a golden-red, providing a constant sunset as a backdrop for Dionysus' nightclubs and wild forests. Apollo's cows roamed their field, which was dangerously (in Hermes' opinion—not that Lo had ever listened to him) close to his archery range. And Hermes had his coliseum with a large track and plenty of other athletic pursuits.

On Hera's side of the river, Demeter cultivated extensive grain fields, which didn't seem like they would be pleasing to the eye, but there was something about the way the light soaked into the sheaths that made them almost glow with life. Persephone's gardens, which flourished year-round now that Hades had been usurped in the underworld, had more of the traditional, delicate and airy aesthetics. Ares' fighting arena was near Artemis' archery range (too near, according to the goddess—she had petitioned to move it several times), which was much like her twin's except that her targets took the shape of men, and her hounds growled at Hermes as he passed.

He winked at the nymphs milling around as he skipped up the steps of Hera's palace. They giggled and motioned for him to come closer. "Maybe later, ladies," he said, and they pouted in response. Athena, who was walking out of the palace with a pile of books, frowned at him disapprovingly, and he winked at her too. "You can join, if you'd like." She rolled her eyes and scoffed, and he blew her a kiss and sauntered through the doors.

Inside, a servant led him to Hera's office, and pushed open the door for him when she said, "enter".

Hera was sitting behind her desk, looking regal as always (even though he hated her, Hermes had to admit that she looked every inch the queen she was—he was never quite sure whether Zeus had made her his queen or if she had made him her king). He ambled in, making sure to have a flat, displeased look on his face so she knew how much of a inconvenience this was for him.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing slightly. She gestured at the chair in front of her desk with a manicured hand and he sat. "Apollo said you wished to see me?"

"Yes. I have a package I wish for you to deliver."

He gaped at her incredulously. "Are you joking? A package? What do I look like to you, a pack mule?"

She stared calmly at him. "You are a messenger, Hermes, I expected you to at least do the bare minimum of your job."

"With all due respect, your Grace, I'm not the fucking Pony express. I have a hundred assistants for you to choose from. Or get your own little messenger to do it."

She steepled her fingers together and pressed them under her chin. "Hermes, do you believe me to be completely lacking mental facilities?"

He clenched his jaw. "Of course not, your Grace."

"Then I find it odd that you would question my decisions. I subjected myself to your derision and contempt because you are the one I need to deliver this package. Were it possible for Iris to deliver it, I would have used her. Now, will you accept my assignment, or must I have your king compel you to do so?"

He gritted his teeth together. "That won't be necessary, your Grace. I'll deliver your package. Just tell me the time and place."

She beckoned to a servant, who brought forward a nondescript brown-papered package, wrapped with twine. The servant bowed low when she handed it to Hermes, who examined the package.

"The address is written there, as you should be able to see. I would prefer you to deliver it as soon as possible."

He sighed, and stuck the package into his bag. "Sure thing. Is that all, your Grace?"

"Yes. Thank you, Hermes." She gestured for him to leave, which he did, gladly. He ground his teeth together on the way out, and ignored the nymphs who called to him when he stalked out of the palace. He fumed at the way Hera took such delight in cutting him down with her serene expression and razorsharp words. She had never liked him, even when she had to pretend she liked any of them, but now that she'd split with Zeus, she never wasted an opportunity to make him remember his place. The only reason he wasn't pulling the package out and throwing it in the river was because the city on the address was New York City, and he was eager enough to see Lucy again that he was keeping his anger in check.

He wandered along the river's edge to the sea, and then along the seashore to the very outskirts of Olympus, where a small, dirty building said "Visa Application Office" in bronze letters above the door. Someone—if he had to make a guess, he'd go with one of Dionysus' followers—seemed to have written "fuck the police" on one wall with either wine, spraypaint, or blood.

He pushed the door open without bothering to knock, and the angel inside cringed when he walked in. It wasn't a very high-ranking angel, obviously—there's no way any angel with half a choice would choose to be anywhere near Olympus—and it watched Hermes warily as he walked up to the desk. No doubt it had more than a few bad experiences with those stuck on Olympus.

"I need a visa to the mortal world," he said.

"Which city?" the angel squeaked.

"New York."

"Reason?"

"Delivery."

"Business or personal?"

"Business."

"How long is your stay?"

"No more than a mortal day."

The angel filled out the paperwork and printed a copy of the visa, handing it to Hermes, who put it in his bag. He closed his eyes and disappeared, and imagined that the angel breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone that it was through with the ordeal with no bodily harm.


End file.
